


We All Fall Down

by Flyting



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Ben this is why you get shipped off to Uncle Luke, Emotional Manipulation, Force Ghosts, Gen, Han Solo's A+ Parenting, Horror, Parents Han and Leia, creep, creepy kid Ben Solo, implied infidelity, self-injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6521755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the TFAkink prompt: <i>A powerful Force-user with a talent for mind-reading, a child's grasp of morality, and a secret dark lord whispering in his ear? Give me scenes with little Ben Solo being That Kid who makes the adults uncomfortable. There was a reason he got shipped off to Uncle Luke.</i></p><p>Or, Ben Solo was one really creepy kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Age 6

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ongoing series of vignettes featuring Ben Solo as a kid, and how he turned to the Dark Side.
> 
> In other news, they are going to put me on a watchlist or something. I write about creepy children way too much.

When Ben was six he drew his mother a picture. He drew a lot of pictures. There wasn’t much else to do all day while his mother sat at her long table by the window and talked in a heated voice to the other adults about troop movements, alliances, and other things he didn’t really understand. He was old enough to know that his mother was doing Something Very Important, but beyond that he was lost. Still, it made him feel important too just to sit on the floor in that high-ceiling, marble-floored room with her while she talked and even yelled about empires and republics.  
  
Sometimes he played games on his datapad. Or, if he was very bored, he would try to pick up the things on the table without moving from his spot on the floor, although he didn’t do that very often ever since the time he lost his concentration and accidentally spilled a glass of water all over Senator Leth. His mother had yelled at him for that one and made him apologize, and then he had to go sit outside in the hall until she was done talking.   
  
Mostly he drew pictures. Pictures of ships. Sometimes pictures animals or of people he knew, or the towering spires of the city he could see out the big window. If he drew a good one, his mother would smile and ruffle his hair and show it to his father, who would stick it up on a wall in the Falcon. He was pretty sure this picture was going up on the wall. He’d put a lot of work into it.   
  
When the adults take a break, Senator Leth shooting dark looks at Ben as he slithers out of the room, he shows his mother what he’s been working on. Her face is buried in her hands, but when he approaches her she smiles and pulls him up onto her lap, leaning her chin on his shoulder.  
  
“What’d you draw today, baby?”  
  
“There’s you and dad,” he says, showing her the two figures holding hands.  
  
“And who’s that?” she asks playfully, pointing to the smaller figure beside them, who was wearing the same outfit as the picture of Han.  
  
“Me,” Ben grins.  
  
“How about this one?” She moves her finger to another figure. This one has two different colored hands sticking out from under his shapeless black clothes.  
  
“That’s Uncle Luke.”  
  
“Oh, I see. Very nice,” Ben can feel her smiling, and he knows he’s done well.  
  
“I’m not done yet. I’m gonna draw his lightsaber too.”  
  
“Let me guess… this one must be Chewie,” Leia says, half-laughing at the giant brown blob next to the picture of Luke.   
  
“Yep,” Ben says, giggling.   
  
“Who’s this?” She moves to the other side of the picture, pointing to a large figure in a long cape standing beside the drawing of Ben. The face and body are completely colored in black.  
  
“That’s the man who watches me sleep.”  
  
“What?”   
  
Ben doesn’t notice the cold note of fear in her voice. He continues on, “I haven’t seen him in a while. He used to come a lot. He watches you sometimes too. And Uncle Luke. I think he takes care of us.”  
  
His mother takes the paper out of his hands gently and sets it on the table, pushing it to arm’s length like there’s something wrong with it. She is afraid. He can feel it knifing through the air around her, prickling his skin. Afraid and angry. With him?  
  
“What’s wrong?” A fearful whine is creeping into his voice. “You’re mad, why are you mad?”  
  
“Ben, listen,” she is squeezing him around the middle and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. Her fear feels like it’s smothering him, clinging to him like a heavy blanket and she’s still angry-   
  
“What did I do?” he interrupts, voice shrill. He squirms on her lap, pushing at her and trying to wriggle out of the circle of her arms, to get away from the battering feelings of panic and violation and _not my son you stay away from my son-_  
  
“You didn’t do anything- stop it,” she holds him more tightly while he whines and struggles. She shushes him, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Ben. It’s not you. I’m not mad at you. Listen to me, I’m not mad at you. Calm down.”  
  
Slowly the storm of emotions subsides and Ben feels like he can breathe again. Leia waits until he calms and stops trying to climb out of her lap to continue. “Ben, if you ever see that man again, you come tell me. Do you understand? Don’t talk to him. Don’t draw him again. Okay?”  
  
He snuffles and nods in agreement, because what else can he do, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of a hand.  
  
And even though his mother said he didn’t do anything wrong, the picture was taken away. Folded up and put somewhere no one could look at it. He never even got to finish coloring Uncle Luke’s lightsaber. His mother smiles and asks him to do another picture, maybe one of the Falcon, but her smile is a brittle thing and even though he normally likes drawing his father’s ship, he doesn’t do it just out of spite. He sits in his corner of the room while the adults finish talking, his face still warm and sticky from tears, and breaks all of his colors one at a time. He doesn’t want to draw anymore.   
  
Later that night, Ben will lie awake with his pillow over his ears, trying to drown out the angry sounds and the waves of emotions coming from the next room. His mother is upset again, and his father is angry. His father’s anger is different from his mothers. It makes the air tense and brittle. He cannot feel Uncle Luke’s emotions through the comm,, but he can hear his voice, exchanging low, urgent words with his parents.  
  
It’s the first time Ben has ever heard the name _Vader_.


	2. Age 8

Ben is eight the first time he wishes he was normal. It had taken him that long to realize that he wasn’t. He’d never had much to compare himself to. The other boys he played with now- mostly the children of his parents’ friends- could not do the things he did. They couldn’t sense emotions in the air, or push their way into people’s minds like digging their fingers into an overripe fruit. They couldn’t make things move without touching them, and they didn’t like it when he did.   
  
They thought he was strange.   
  
Ben thought they were stupid, and hid things from them when they weren’t looking. When they asked, he would say truthfully, “I didn’t touch it,” and smile at his own joke.  
  
He hasn’t seen his grandfather since he was six. He thinks that, perhaps, his mother drove him away. The thought makes him sad. Ben misses the company. Particularly now.  
  
He sits on the floor of his bedroom, trying to block out the sounds of arguing. He wishes he could do the same for the emotions that went with them, but they were harder to block out. This isn’t the first time he’s tried. Normal feelings he can just about manage, but these sweep over him like a wave, drowning him in feelings that aren't his own.  
  
The anger and betrayal are from his mother, he thinks. The apology, the despair, and underneath it all the flare of irritation that has his name tied to it are from his father. That hurts more than he thought it would. He didn’t mean to do anything wrong.   
  
Stray fragments of sound hit him even with his hands clasped tight over his ears.  
  
“-it was one lousy kiss! I’m sorry, I’m stupid. I was just trying to get a good deal ... you know I would never-“ _pain regret irritation_  
  
“-not mad that it happened, I’m mad that I had to hear about it from Ben!” _righteous fury an edge of pride that it’s not a lie not completely_  
  
Ben wishes he could stop feeling everything so much. It’s tearing him apart and it won’t stop. Nothing he does ever makes it stop.   
  
“… waiting for the right time to tell you...” _embarrassment a lie never never going to be a right time to tell you I wasn’t going to tell you_  
  
“.. but you told our son...” _cold-boiling anger_  
  
“… I didn’t tell him anything, that kid…” _irritation and sickly-yellow fear disgust there’s something wrong with him Leia-_  
  
Ben’s hands clench, and he slams his balled fists into his temples again and again until the yelling stops, the feelings stop, and all that’s left is a hollow, ringing pain between his ears.


	3. Age 9

By the time Ben is nine years old, something has changed in him. He is angry and secretive, spending hours alone in his room doing nothing. His parents are worried about him. When they aren’t too busy worrying about the Republic, or the First Order, or whether the Hutt Council were going to ask for their money back. Compared to thousands dying every day on Outer Rim mining worlds, having a child who is too quiet always seems like a problem for another day.  
  
Halfway through a holiday-turned-diplomatic-mission on Coruscant, his father sticks his head into Ben’s bedroom to say goodbye.  
  
“Come wish me luck, kid, I’ve gotta go.” He already has his jacket on and a blaster tucked into his belt.   
  
Ben has his chin pillowed on his folded arms. He looks up from the model X-wing he’d been pushing around on his desk with one finger. “Go where?” he asks.   
  
“I’ve gotta make a run.” Han crosses the room to tussle his hair. “Why don’t you cut this mess while I’m gone? You’re starting to look like a girl,” he teases.   
  
“Can’t I come with you?” Ben asks, an edge of alarm in his voice. “You promised I could come with you this time.”  
  
Han winces, “I know I did, but there’s been a change of plans. I’m not going to Tatooine anymore.”  
  
Ben pushes back his chair, making the legs scrape across the floor. “That’s okay-“  
  
“Look kid, maybe next time, okay?”  
  
“But that’s what you said before!” Han recognizes the shrill edge of an oncoming tantrum.  
  
He raises his voice. “We’re not arguing about this, Ben. I said no.”  
  
Han makes it three steps before the door of the bedroom slams shut on its own.   
  
“Ben,” he growls, turning around. “Open the damn door.”  
  
“No,” Ben says, setting his jaw. The kid had stubbornness in every single bone of his body, and unfortunately Han knew exactly where he got it from.  
  
“You’ve got to three. One…”  
  
“Not until you say I can come with you. _You promised!_ ”  
  
“Two…” He has no clue what he’s going to do when he gets to three. No clue what he’ll do if Ben doesn’t back down. _I’m being held hostage by a kid who’s not even old enough to shave,_ he thinks, a little desperately. _I hate the damn Force._  
  
The word hangs in the air, threat unspoken. Han glares at him and Ben stares right back, dark-eyed and furious.   
  
_“Thr-“_  
  
The door is flung open wildly. It bounces off the wall with a solid _crack._  
  
When Han turns to look back at Ben, he has his face buried in the desk and his arms over his head. His shoulders shake with sharp, muffled sobs.  
  
“I’ll see you in a few days, kid,” he mutters from the doorway.


	4. Age 13

The first time Ben Solo saw his cousin Rey, she was a baby. He was ten years old.  
  
“I don’t like her,” he said, his face serious. Ben was always serious, when he wasn’t crying.

Everyone had laughed. It was the kind of thing parents the universe over found hilarious. The kind of thing that gets repeated at weddings and Life Day celebrations every year until the children involved are grown up with children of their own, and sick to death of hearing it.  
  
“Why not?” his mother had asked.  
  
“She’s going to hurt me.”  
  
“She’s just a baby, kid, she can’t hurt you,” his father had said, smirking. “Pee on you, maybe.”  
  
“Han,” his mother rolled her eyes, trying to sound stern but failing.  
  
“Not now,” Ben said, going back to the model fighter he had been taking apart before his parents called him in to look at the new baby.  “Later. In the place with all the snow. She’s going to hate me. I don’t like her _at all_.”

 

* * *

 

  
  
Over the years, Ben found more reasons not to like his cousin. She cried all the time, but nobody ever told her to stop it, to _man up_. She smelled strange. And when he was eleven she did, as his father had predicted, pee on him.

The adults treated everything she did like it was _just perfect._ She pulled his hair or yanked on his ears when his mother made him hold her, and when he dropped her because it hurt, _he_ was the one who got in trouble.

As she got bigger it just got worse. He started to hate the few times a year they were forced to spend time together. She would follow him around, babbling his name, a non-stop chorus of “Ben, Ben, _Bebebeben_ -“ His uncle tried to say it was because she liked him. Really, he thought it was just because his name was easy to say.

She would break his model starships trying to play with them, and cry when he pushed her out of his room and shut the door in her face. He already shared, grudgingly, that place in his family’s hearts that used to belong to just him. He wasn’t going to share his things too.

The emotion that used to be just for him- that warm mix of pride and affection- was now for Rey too. More often for Rey, he thought bitterly. He hated it.

When she levitated one of her soft toys up in the air everyone made a big deal, crowding around her, saying things like, “Did you see that?” and worse, “I don’t think that Ben could do that until he was five-“  
  
No, he stood by his initial statement. Ben Solo did not like his cousin Rey at all.

But he had never thought of hurting her. Not really hurting her, that is. Worse than pulling her hair or pushing her down. Not until one day when he was thirteen.

Rey was napping on a cot while Ben practiced stacking up her toy blocks with the Force. He was trying to learn to stack them neatly even with his eyes closed, but hadn’t quite mastered it yet. A little more practice and he’d have it.

Rey’s nursemaid, an old Corellian woman named Dia, got up to go in the other room, and hesitated in the doorway.  
  
“Ben, why don’t you come help me start lunch?” She said, brightly.  
  
“No, I’m fine,” he said, barely paying attention. His eyes were squeezed shut. He resisted the urge to crack them open just a bit and _make sure_ -

“But I really need your help.”

He didn’t even need the Force to see how much of a lie that was. He set the blocks back down, sighing.  
  
“No you don’t,” he said. “You just want me out of the room. Why?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, her smile plastered to her face. He skimmed just the bare surface of her mind- not pushing in, Uncle Luke said that was Unacceptable- but simply reading what she was on the surface.  
  
Rey, asleep. Rey, defenseless. Fear. Worry.

Ben frowned. Was something bad going to happen? Why was she thinking of Rey? What did it matter? His cousin was asleep. He was being quiet enough not to wake her. Why was she worried-

… that he would hurt Rey?

He doesn’t need to read her mind to see it, loud and clear in her eyes. She was afraid he would hurt Rey if she left them alone together. The realization settled around him uncomfortably, like a cloak. Ben thought back, suddenly unable to pinpoint a single instance when anyone had _ever_ left him alone with Rey.

Did the rest of his family feel that way too? Did they not trust him?

The unspoken accusation hurt more than he expected it would. He wasn’t bad… He wasn’t. Not like that. What had he ever done to make them think he would do that?  
  
A small, dark part of him, the part that he struggled to ignore, pointed out that this was actually a brilliant solution to his problem and why hadn’t he thought of it before? If Rey were gone, she couldn’t hurt him on some snowy planet far off into the future. If Rey were gone, he would be the favorite again.

He shut the door on those thoughts, firmly. Even if he didn’t like her, Rey was family. You didn’t hurt family. You didn’t hurt your own flesh and blood. He knew that, why couldn’t this stupid woman see that he _knew that?_

His first instinct was to scream it at her; to batter Dia down with all the ways that she was _wrong_ until she apologizes for ever thinking such mean, nasty, terrible things about him. But on second thought, that might not go a long way towards proving his point.

Ben abandoned his practice and obediently went to help make lunch. He passed Dia things and even used the Force to lift the heavy pot of water onto the stove. When it started to bubble, he didn’t even allow himself to imagine dumping the entire boiling pot on her head.

He would show them how good he could be. Then everyone would trust him again.


End file.
